


Where has my innocence gone?

by Mademoisellesnowflake



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Aramis getting drunk doesn't sound like a good idea tbh, Aramis isn't really feeling welcome with the boys, Constance is badass, Everything is so complicated, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I bet Aramis himself doesn't really know either, I don't really know about their relationships any more, Tag to s3e4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 12:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12059100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mademoisellesnowflake/pseuds/Mademoisellesnowflake
Summary: After Bonnaire is dealt with, Constance asks Aramis to tell her about his childhood. One thing leads to another and the boys find out Aramis has been feeling rather lonely after returning with them from the monastery.





	Where has my innocence gone?

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what gave the idea to this but here we are and I've written a new fic. It's very dialogue-heavy and as I ditched the proofreading, there might be mistakes :"D Anyway, I hope you can enjoy this odd story about loneliness and a very drunk Aramis.

“Tell me about them. The people you grew up with.”

Aramis looked up to see Constance who had walked into one of the common rooms with some parchments and writing supplies. She was looking at him curiously and noticed the half-full glass of wine. She also noticed the discarded bottles of wine and realised that Aramis was most likely heavily drunk.

Aramis, however smiled softly at Constance and motioned for her to sit near him. He tried to pour Constance a glass of wine but failed miserably because his hands simply shook so much. Constance chuckled and poured herself some wine and looked at Aramis expectantly; he seemed to be gathering strength to tell Constance whatever he was going to tell.

“They were kind and warm”, Aramis said with a fond smile lighting up his face as the flames of the fireplace lit up the room. “Pauline was always collecting beautiful things – stones, discarded jewellery, anything really – and saying that one day she’d be a proper lady. She once found a pretty glove and hid it in her room so she could play that she was a fine lady. I was to play the lord she’d meet at a tea party…”

“That sounds like a nice memory”, Constance said and placed her hand on Aramis’ wrist. Aramis was staring at his glass, captured in a far-away memory.

“My mother was beautiful”, Aramis told. “She was born Spanish but she spoke almost perfect French too. I grew up bilingual with the stories she told me and the other children of Valencia where she grew up… She was very well-liked by the customers of the brothel… I mean, who wouldn’t have been interested in a Spanish beauty like her? Spanish women aren’t really a daily sight in Lyon, after all.”

“So, you grew up in Lyon?” Constance asked softly. It was amazing how little she had actually known of Aramis before he’d started telling her of himself.

“Yes, I did”, Aramis said. “I lived there with my mother until I was… ten? That was when father d’Herblay decided to adopt me and move to countryside with me.”

“Father d’Herblay?” Constance asked. She’d been under the impression that Aramis’ father had collected him from the brothel.

“He was a priest in the city at that time”, Aramis said. “He had been in love with my mother for some time and she once asked if he could take care of me because she didn’t want me to end up working in the brothel as well… So one day he took me with him and left the city to live in the countryside and my mother… I never saw her again after that.”

“I’m so sorry”, Constance whispered. “Do you… do you have anything of hers?”

“My rosary”, Aramis said quietly. “The beads are made of an orange tree that grew near her family’s house. I wanted to tear it apart so many times when I felt like she’d abandoned me but every time father d’Herblay managed to talk me out of it. He was always so kind to me…”

Aramis lapsed into silence and continued staring at his glass. He wore a melancholy expression as another far-away memory seemed to be playing in his mind. Constance’s heart ached for the image of young Aramis feeling abandoned, alone with only an old priest looking after him.

“In hindsight, I think she saved me”, Aramis told, his voice uncharacteristically small. “If she hadn’t sent me away, I would have ended up working in that same brothel and I’d never ended up living this life… I just wish sometimes someone had explained that to me sooner.”

“Oh, Aramis”, Constance muttered and placed her hand on Aramis’ shoulder. “I, for one, am glad that you’re here living this life. It would be a lot more boring without you driving me crazy.”

Aramis looked at Constance and gave her a very melancholy smile. For a moment, Constance thought she could see loneliness in those deep and dark eyes of his.

“I’m glad to be here as well”, Aramis whispered. “Sometimes I’m just rather unsure if I belong here any longer…”

“Of course you belong here!” Constance said rather forcefully. “You’re our Aramis who is a hopeless romantic and who feels so deeply that I always fear that one day you’ll just burst. Where else would you belong than here with your brothers and me worrying over you?”

“But you see, Constance dear, I might not be as much of their brother any longer”, Aramis said softly. When Constance didn’t seem to understand what he meant, he said, “Athos pointed his pistol at me today. For just a fleeting moment I feared he might actually have shot me…”

“I’ll behead that moron”, Constance whispered. “How on Earth… You’re his brother! How could he?”

“It’s fine Constance”, Aramis said. “As you can see, he did not take the shot…”

“It’s not fine”, Constance said but couldn’t continue as there was a loud crash heard from the wine cupboard. Both Constance and Aramis could hear muffled cursing from the cupboard so Aramis walked near it, only to discover Porthos looking guiltily at him.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping”, Porthos said quickly, “I swear I wasn’t. I just… I kind of was here when Constance came in and thought it too awkward to leave when the two of you were talking… Is it true, though? That you grew up in a brothel?”

“Yes”, Aramis said, his voice suddenly growing cold. “My mother was a whore and had I not been adopted by a priest whose name I took, I would have ended up working in the same brothel as she worked in.”

“What… what about your father?” Porthos asked softly. He was more or less between Aramis and the wall and something in Aramis’ face – rage, perhaps – was scaring Porthos more than a pistol pointed at him would have.

“As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have one”, Aramis said coolly. “I don’t give a shit about the scum who forced himself on my mother and left her with an unwanted pregnancy that forced her to work in a brothel because her parents wouldn’t let her back home! She was twenty years old, Porthos! Twenty years old! And do you know the worst part about it? I’ve almost become just like that bag of dirt who couldn’t keep his hands off my mother.”

“You’re nothing like him”, Porthos said. “I don’t recognise you from what you told me about him!”

“Oh, you don’t?” Aramis asked, his voice rising. Porthos absently noticed the strong smell of alcohol in Aramis’ breath as Aramis got even closer to Porthos’ face. “So I was nothing like that bag of dirt when I impregnated Isabelle at seventeen and later got her killed? Or when I was seeing Adele Bessette and eventually got her killed as well? Or at that convent? Don’t you dare tell me I’m not like him, don’t you dare! Hell, how don’t you hate me yet? I would hate me if I were you.”

“Aramis, you’re drunk”, Porthos muttered, making Aramis laugh angrily.

“Oh, yes I am”, Aramis said, swinging dangerously. “You really should hate me, Porthos. Can you even remember how many times I’ve got you hurt? Like with Balthazar when I was too worried for my son to take a shot. Imagine what people thought when they heard that I couldn’t take a shot because I was too preoccupied over a literal _child_! Dammit, Porthos, what do I need to say to make you hate me? Why won’t you just hate me so that everything could hurt less?”

“I won’t hate you”, Porthos said as he slowly wrapped his arms around Aramis’ swaying shoulders and pulled him into an embrace. “You’re my brother, how could I ever hate you?”

“You have every reason to”, Aramis mumbled from where his face was pressed against Porthos’ shoulder. “I hurt you when I left. And besides, you already learnt to live without me…”

“And I hated every second of having to live without you”, Porthos whispered as he began rubbing comforting circles around Aramis’ back. Aramis let out a shuddering breath as he shoulders began shaking. Constance walked to the two friends with a furious expression on her face.

“Where is Athos?” Constance asked. “Tell me, Porthos. I’m going to give that fool a beating for pointing his pistol at Aramis.”

“Oh god, Constance, please don’t”, Porthos muttered. “He would never have shot Aramis.”

“Well, did Aramis know that?” Constance asked furiously. “Can’t you – can’t you see how _lonely_ he is? He’s been thinking he doesn’t have a place with you any longer and you keeping away from him like that isn’t helping at all!”

There was a knock on the door and Constance turned around to face the door almost as furiously as she’d talked to Porthos. For a moment, Porthos was sure Constance would tear the door apart with her bare hands. Porthos was rather surprised – and a little bit relieved – to see that Constance opened the door that revealed d’Artagnan in the hallway.

“I heard fighting”, d’Artagnan said. “What’s going on?”

“You!” Constance said and pulled d’Artagnan inside the room. “You stupid men are what’s going on! Now you’re going to fix this mess while I go find Athos.”

“Don’t behead him, Constance!” Porthos called after Constance’s retreating back. When d’Artagnan looked at Porthos questioningly, Porthos shrugged and said, “She’s really angry at us and to be honest, we kind of caused this mess by expecting that everything would be normal after four years apart…”

Understanding dawned on d’Artagnan’s face as he noticed Aramis’ shoulders shaking violently. He quickly motioned for Porthos to lead Aramis on one of the chairs near the fireplace. Porthos complied and sat down next to Aramis at his right while d’Artagnan sat on a chair at Aramis’ left.

“He’s drunk”, Porthos simply explained to d’Artagnan’s questioning look. “He’s had way too much to drink and I think he just told me the biggest secrets he’s had… And he isn’t doing as well as we thought – which honestly is to be expected. We were apart for four years and things change in four years. A lot of things.”

“I missed you”, Aramis whispered hoarsely and d’Artagnan noticed the obvious tear tracks on his face. “I missed you all so much for those four years and suddenly you were there with your new dynamic and you’d learned to live without me… I so naïvely hoped that I could find my place within you but I couldn’t and I still haven’t…”

“You belong here with us”, d’Artagnan said confidently. “At no point did we actually want to learn to live without you. We learnt to live without you because otherwise we’d have fallen apart and possibly died during the war. And yet, I’m so glad you didn’t come with us to war because you could have died and that would have been even worse than the four-year separation because at least we got you back here with us after the four years. If you had died in the war, we’d never get you back.”

Aramis nodded minutely and d’Artagnan smiled sadly at him. He began rubbing comforting circles on Aramis’ back and took Aramis’ hand in his free hand.

“I missed you so much that I cried a few times”, Porthos confessed. “I thought we’d never see each other again and when we suddenly met at the monastery… I was so bitter that I _wanted_ to hurt you because I’d been so hurt… I’m so sorry, Aramis.”

“It’s alright”, Aramis whispered and Porthos pulled him into another hug.

“It’s not alright, really”, Porthos mumbled. “I hurt you.”

“Should we get you into your room?” d’Artagnan asked. “You should really sleep that alcohol off… Do you want us to stay with you?”

“I… I don’t really know”, Aramis whispered. “I think I’d like you to stay… for some time. You don’t have to stay for the whole night.”

D’Artagnan smiled softly and helped Aramis to stand up. They were just about to leave the room when they heard Constance’s yelling and Athos’ mildly worried voice from the hallway. Soon Constance burst into the room, dragging Athos behind her.

“You!” she yelled. “You four are going to fix this now! I’m not watching you hurt each other any longer, you understand me?”

“We will”, Porthos said. “And Constance? Could you get a water skin for Aramis? He needs to drink some water after all that wine…”

“I’ll go get one”, Constance said. “You better talk everything through. I hate to have one of you in that kind of condition…”

“What is she saying?” Athos asked when Constance left the room. “What’s going on?”

“Things weren’t as simple as we thought”, Porthos tried to explain. “Our new dynamic… I don’t think it’s working.”

“Oh”, Athos breathed as he sunk on one of the chairs. Porthos rolled his eyes and motioned for Aramis to sit back down when Athos spoke again. “What do we do?”

“We listen to what Aramis has to say”, Porthos said. “We listen to him and do our best to remind him he’s one of us. And we make sure he knows it.”

“I’m right here”, Aramis mumbled.

“So you are”, Athos said softly which made Aramis look up at him. “What’s going on?”

“I just… I haven’t been so sure I still belong here lately”, Aramis told quietly. “After all, I left you for four years when you went to war; it’s more than a good reason to not belong any longer. I guess… I’ve been feeling incredibly lonely because I had no idea how to interact with you any longer… And I had no idea how to ask…”

“Of course you belong here”, Athos said. “You were the first of us to even be a musketeer; we have no right to take that away from you. And after all the times you saved our lives when we got wounded? You’ll always be one of us, no matter what. It was stupid of me to pretend that nothing has happened while we were apart but we can still try to reconcile. I’m really sorry for not realising you were feeling so lonely.”

“It’s fine”, Aramis muttered hoarsely, looking at his knees. Porthos noticed his hands shaking and hugged him, sighing exasperatedly.

“You’re really going to need some water after all this or you’ll dry up”, Porthos whispered when Athos and d’Artagnan hugged Aramis as well.

“You know what this calls for?” Athos asked. When no one answered, he said, “A sleepover. To remind us how we sometimes had to share our sleeping space.”

“I have a wife, Athos”, d’Artagnan protested, his voice slightly muffled by Aramis’ unruly hair.

“A wife who will have my head if we don’t make sure Aramis is fine”, Athos reminded him. “You’re not getting off the hook, d’Artagnan, for I fear for my life too much.”

Aramis laughed wetly against Porthos’ chest. Everything would be fine; he was with his brothers once more.

Outside the door, Constance smiled softly and set out to retrieve the water skin for Aramis.

**Author's Note:**

> Any kind of feedback would be welcome!


End file.
